To Remember
by DarknessAngel013
Summary: A OneShot about the pain of memories and the beauty of them. DHr


To Remember

The happy days were rare days for him. He had been trapped in this cell for almost three years—fighting just to keep alive. He had no visitors—his friends were dead, as were his parents; due to the fact that he had turned traitor and ran from his dark future. His sentence after that had went from death to three years in Azkaban prison.

The blonde-boy—his hair clipped in a shag to his ears—with piercing silver eyes watched curiously as a woman opened his cell door. It was too early for meals and too early for his weekly washing. His silver eyes met hers—almost kindly—and she smiled at him, rather tightly, before she walked into the dirty cell, closing the door behind her.

"Draco Malfoy," she sighed, reaching out to touch his stubbly and scarred face. "What has the world done to you?" He looked down at the floor and she dropped her hand; choosing, instead, to sit on the cot next to him. "I'm here to help you, Draco."

Recognition flashed through his entire being. He lifted his heavy head, conscious of his heavy heart. "Hermione," he breathed, reaching out to touch her arm. She flinched and he recoiled, hurting. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to touch you. I just—I just couldn't help myself. It's been so long..."

"I know, and it's my fault for flinching. It's a habit of mine now. Some sort of nervous disorder." Her eyes filled with tears. "Ever since Harry and the Weasleys—" she broke off, her chest heaving. His heart contracted.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." She looked at him.

"Do you remember what we...before the last battle?"

"Not everything. But I remember how your skin felt." He touched her face this time, but she didn't flinch or move. She rubbed her face against his palm. The skin on her cheeks was soft and unscarred, but he knew that scars ran all along her body and in her soul, just like him. He smiled, a little brokenly. "Can you truly help? Help me get out of here?" She nodded once—he felt it on his hand.

"You have to trust me, Draco, and you have to remember." She looked at him, pleadingly. "And you have to make them feel what we felt those short weeks." He didn't understand how that would help, but he found himself nodding. She smiled. "You have to trust me." He nodded once again before her image started to face. His vision was blurry and everything in his mind disappeared except for those few memories of their short tryst. It was so hazy. He blinked and tried to regain his sense of reality, but knew it was fruitless. Hermione had drugged him, and he didn't blame her. She wanted to make sure he could remember—every single detail.

Draco slipped into his subconscious.

3 Years Ago: at the Scene of the Final Battle

Her heart was hammering painfully in her chest—she was trapped in this cabin with no contact with the rest of the Light Army. She realized that she didn't really have anyone to blame but heself, considering her adamant reasoning that she should be the one to infiltrate the Dark Army. She scowled. If only Lucius hadn't seen her—if only she hadn't ran into this blasted cabin and sealed it. She knew what lie outside—certain death; at the hands of Lucius Malfoy—the father of one of Light Army's most important spies. Hermione refused to blow his cover.

She picked through her rucksack, searching for any scrap of food she could get her hands on. She only found various crumbs that were too small to make a difference in her current hunger situation. She grimaced. She would die soon. Humans couldn't last more than 3 weeks without water and no more than a month without any type of sustinance at all. She had already been in this cabin for a week.

When she had began to have respect for Draco Malfoy, she didn't know, but she did have this respect and this trust for him. And this way why she was currently here and, surprisingly, with him, like she was under house arrest. She turned to look at her companion, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. He looked up at her as she sniffled.

"I'm sorry about him," her companion whispered. His lips were parched and bleeding and it hindered his speaking abilities. "But I guess the only reason you're truly alive is because of me, isn't it?"

She nodded and he grimaced. "He thinks it's your new assignment—keeping me here."

The boy laughed darkly, his blonde hair flipping with the movement. It was clipped short in a spiked style—so different from his childhood slicked look. Even at age 17 and 18, Draco and Hermione were no longer children; they were soldiers. "You could always go outiside and act like it really is your mission—maybe get us some food...and water." She looked at the floor. "Otherwise, we're going to die before the battle even starts." Draco nodded and motioned to the shackles he had conjured.

"Put yourself in those and keep quiet." He gasped as Hermione whacked her head against the floor, causing a gash on her forehead to break open. "What are you doing?!"

"Would you keep your prisoner healthy?" She queried, dragging herself to the shackles. "Because I wouldn't." She latched herself in and assumed a very awkward position—her head on her knees and her arms shackled high on the wall behind her. "Hurry up or I'm going to bleed to death," she whispered. "I haven't eaten, so it's likely my blood won't clot right."

Draco nodded and undid the jinxes on the door. Lucius was immediately in the doorway. "Problem, son?" Lucius asked, scowling in distaste at Draco's appearance.

"I need food and water." He glanced down. "And new clothes." Lucius nodded and looked over Draco's shoulder at Hermione's "broken" form.

"You subdued her, then?" He clapped his son on the back. "Good work." He sighed darkly. "Your mother will be happy too. Now you don't have to fight the final battle. You'll be protecting our... "assets", won't you?" Draco nodded and his father disappeared, returning a few minutes later with the required supplies. "A week's worth of food and water and a change of clothes...for you only." He sneered and Draco almost spit on him. He resisted the urge.

"Thank you, Father." Draco the shut the door, resealing the wards and replacing the jinxes once it was closed. Hermione raised her head—blood pooled on her knees and around her eye. "Hurry up, Draco!" He nodded and slipped his clothes off, noticing that Hermione didn't blush or look away. He then put the new ones on and levitated an old bowl from the corner of the room. He put his old clothes in it and scourigified them.

"What in the blazes are you doing?" Hermione spat, trying to undo the shackles. He looked up at her, ripping the garment in his hands as he did.

"Making bandages." He whispered a spell and the shackles released his companion. She fell to the floor in a limp gesture. She scowled at him before scooting towards him to help. He glared at her. "You're in pain, Hermione. Stop moving." She didn't comply—instead she reached to help him make the bandages. "Stop helping, you stubborn twit.." When she continued helping, he grabbed her arms and pulled her. Surprised, she fell into his lap. He groaned. "Nice landing."

"You pulled me, twit. Now let me up." He didn't comply. Draco suddenly found himself transfixed by her gaze—by the power in her eyes. He couldn't resist the urge to bend forward and—

And she finished his sentence by lifting her mouth to his in a welcoming and passionate kiss. She moaned lightly—an utterly feminine sound—and sat up. Blood dripped onto his arm—which was supporting her form—and he grimaced, removing himself from the kiss. "Hermione, you're still bleeding:" Her eyes flashed in something akin to admiration before she moved to his side—out of his lap.

"Just mend the cut with your wand, Draco. Then we can eat." He nodded and grabbed his wand, pointing it at her forehead. "Episkey." He murmured, and the wound healed before his eyes. Before he could put his wand down, Hermione was on him, putting her mouth on his greedily. And Draco didn't object in the least.

They continued on like this until the pain of hunger tore them apart, leaving them aching for the touches again. Both of them were speechless. "Umm...we need...uh...food." Draco stuttered.

"Yeah...food." Hermione repeated. She reached across him and grabbed the basket of food. It consisted of various scones, dried meats and fruits, along with about 10-15 water bottles. Her mouth watered—as much as it could—and she grabbed some dried roast beef and a scone and then two water bottles. Draco took the same, except he also grabbed a bright red apple.

All that could be heard were the munches of their exuberant chewing and the various gulps and slurps from their intakes of life-saving water. No words were spoken. And this was a monumentally good thing because they wouldn't have had anything to say.

As soon as their meager meals were finished, Draco stored the rest in a small box in the corner of the cabin. As he walked back towards Hermione, he grimaced, knowing that he would have to try and explain their fervent kissing match—or she would, and he'd have to listen; both were equally horrid.

Not surprisingly, Hermione spoke first. She was curled into a ball by the wall, rubbing her hands together. She looked straight into his eyes when he sat. "It doesn't have to mean anything." She whispered. His heart lept. _It doesn't have to. _Not—_It doesn't. _He had no idea why he was so thrilled and relieved at those two little words. Maybe it was because he had secretly wanted this—this relationship with Hermione.

"No, it doesn't," he found himself starting. But what came out next shocked them both. "But I want it too." Hermione's eyes lit with a strange emotion and she moved closer to him.

"We could die out here—one or both of us—and that would leave one of us in heartache, if only one survived. But we can't fight it, can we?" She laughed darkly. "I've wanted this since second year."

His eyes widened. "Why?"

"You interested me; and that interest grew into a dull liking, which then turned into the passionate admiration that you witnessed earlier. I won't say that I love you—I would be lying. But I do care enough to try." She smiled at him—innocent and entirely vulnerable.

They continued on like this for a week—with their trysts, and they got considerably more intimate. But the world outisde careened into dangerous territory, so their freedom could not last forever. The Final Battle was fast approaching and, the sixth day after Lucius had first called on his son, he arrived again. "Draco?"

Draco shot his head up from his position on the mattress by the wall. Hermione was snoring lightly next to him in a blissful sleep. She was naked excpet for the sheet she had wrapped around her middle and her legs. He cursed.

"Mina," he said, adoringly. "Love, you have to get up. Lucius is here for me. I don't want him to see you like this. It will blow our cover."

"Too late, boy." Then there was a flash of light and one Malfoy lay dying. But Hermione's mind was foggy and she knew not which one had fallen. She screamed in pitious anguish.

"Draco!" But the world lit before her eyes once more as the living Malfoy stepped towards her. She cried out in pure relief. "Merlin..."

"Mina, I—I just killed my father..." Then he collapsed in front of her, sobbing, and she could only hold him as he wept. He would not become lucid for two more days.

Those days were spent in darkness—at least, metaphorical darkness. Hermione tended to her beau, while trying desperately to put up the wards they needed to keep the other Death Eaters away. She could not fight them off without a wand. But, like the miracle he was, Draco spoke the morning of the third day. "Mina, love, I need water." She immediately rushed to his aid, pouring precious, life-giving water down his aching throat.

"Thank you," he whispered, after several more gulps.

"No, Draco, thank you. You killed your own father to save me. It was a tremendous sacrifice." She caressed his cheek and a tear rolled down her own. "I think I've gotten a bit attached to you, Draco, but I can stop it right now if it's not what you want." Her eyes were pleading but sincere and Draco nearly got lost in them.

"Don't stop loving me." He said, lifting his mouth to meet hers in their final kiss. Because the next morning they would be on the battle field—fighting for their lives.

Present Day: Azkaban

Draco awoke, crying. Images still flashed before his eyes—images of death, torture and destruction—images of the precious Boy Who Lived falling into the dark abyss of death, Godric Gryffindor's sword plunged in his heart—destroying the final horcrux and, with it, Voldemort, forever. There were images of Hermione holding a sobbing and pregantn Ginny Potter at a funeral, of her holding a maimed Ronald Weasley—a man who fought bravely but lost his ability to walk and ride a broom. He saw himself crying over his mother's bloody corpse—Voldemort's final going away present to the traitorous Malfoy. He saw images of Molly and Arthur Weasley crying over four different graves—Charlie, Fred, George, and Percy. And, finally, he saw images of the terrified Death Eaters being hauled into Azkaban—he along with them, because there was no Harry Potter to protest his innocence.

He wailed in agony and put his hands over his eyes. He had tried so hard to forget everything—they had even wiped his memory, whether by accident or not. How had Hermione freed his memories? He stood, still woozy, and slammed his fists on his cell door. "Mina!" He heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall and, like a scene from a romance movie, she was in his arms. "Mina..."

She sobbed loudly and kissed his face. "You remember..."

"How did you—"

"Snape left all of his Dark Magic books at the Order HQ. I merely had to look in the right place to free you. I'm so sorry it took me so long, love. I've missed you so much." He felt his eyes fill with tears of his own—the first batch in years. "We have to leave, Draco. Your hearing is in three hours and you need to get cleaned up."

He nodded and, with a thought so random he could have one an award, Draco blissfully realized he would do anything to escape here—if only to marry the woman before him. HE put a hand on her arm. "Mina," he said, pleadingly. "Look at me."

She did, turning around to face him in the doorway. He took her hands in his. "If I get out of this, Mina, i want you to be my one and only. I want you to stand by me through think and thin. I want you to bear my children. And I want to protect you and love you with such a ferocity you will beg for air. But, most of all, I want you to be my wife." He cleared his throat. "So...will you do me the honor of marrying me, Hermione Jane Granger?"

She lept into his arms, kissing his neck. "Of course, you nutter! But you better get used to the idea of calling me Mrs. Mina Malfoy."

He laughed. "It has a nice ring to it."

3 Months Later

She twirled in front of the mirror—a dazzling display in white lace. Her dearest friend stood next to her, holding her four-year old son—Sirius Harry Potter. Ginny, herself, was dazzling as well. "Herms," she said, taking her friend's hand. "You know I love you...and Harry does too, wherever he is." She smiled, blissfully, remembering her long lost love.

"I know, Gin; I know." Then a male voice sounded from the door.

"Mione?"

"Ron! Get out! You're supposed to be with Draco, for Merlin's sake!"

She could practically hear him cringing. "Drake's fine, Mione! Mum wanted me to tell you that we're starting in 10. She's currently indisposed—taking care of little Edvard Charlie Weasley. Devil spawn that boy is."

Ginny laughed. "He's got veela genes, Ron. He_ is_ Fleur and Bill's daughter." Hermione heard Ron's baritone laugh from halfway down the door—he was in his wheelchair.

"I'm coming, Ron. Go fetch my father." She heard the wheels turn on his chair and felt a twinge of despair lap at her heart—but she knew Ron was fine and felt no pain. So maybe there was no need for anymore despair or guilt or even pity. Life moves on.

The wedding was spectacular—a stunning display in silver, gold, emerald and maroon—the colors of both Slytherin and Gryffindor combined to create a beautiful display. The vows spoken by Draco and Hermione were sincere and filled with undetestable adoration and love. There was no denying that the two of them loved one another; but no one but the two of them knew where their love had blossomed. And that was how they wanted it.

That night, on the consummation of their marriage, their first child came to be.

9 months Later: St. Mungos

"Goddamn it, Draco, we are never having sex again!" A very hormonal and pregant Mrs. Malfoy wailed, clutching to her husband's hand for dear life. "Better yet—don't ever touch me again, you hear me?!"

But Hermione Malfoy would take this back in approximately 1 hour when the newest Malfoys would come into the world. Yes, Malfoys, with stress on the "s". Hermione had birthed twins—both with curly, pale blonde hair and hazel eyes—a perfect mixture of silver and brown. They received their mother's light freackles and their father's complexion and there was both a girl and a boy.

The World Welcomes:

_**Ariella Narcissa Malfoy**_

&

_**Vincent Skylar Malfoy**_

To the World

_Congratulations_

**And that was the End of the tale. They went on to have three more children—one girl and two boys. There was Elsbeth Rosalind Malfoy, Alexander Caelan Malfoy, and Shaye Russel Malfoy. Ron went on to marry a muggle named Andrea and they had three children. Ginny married no one else and had no more children. Fleur and Bill had only one more and named him Frederick George Weasley. Not very unique, to say the least, but well meant. The Final Battle still haunts all of their minds. **


End file.
